The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

He stepped closer—silent, deliberate. His tail curled lightly against the floor, steadying him as if even his body knew not to make a sound.

When he reached her side, he just stood there. Watching.

Every part of her called to him—the steady rise and fall of her chest, the warmth that seemed to radiate off her even from under the covers, the way she slept so unguarded in his presence. Trusting him. That was the part that undid him the most.

His lips parted, a breath escaping before he could stop it. His chest ached. His heart thrashed like a beast caught in a cage.

"Why you?" he thought bitterly, even as the corner of his mouth softened into a smile. "Why do you make me want things I was told I could never have?"

He lowered himself slightly, crouching to be closer to her level, his eyes drinking her in. Every second only deepened the ache.

His gaze dropped, against his will, to her lips.

They were soft, curved, parted just enough that he could see the faintest shimmer of breath passing between them. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. His pulse thundered in his ears.

The thought struck him with sudden, merciless clarity—if he leaned forward just a little, just an inch—he could taste her.

And gods help him, he wanted to.

Cyrus's hand twitched at his side, clenching into a fist to stop himself from reaching out. His tail gave a restless flick, betraying his battle for control.

Slowly, as though caught in some dream, he leaned in. His breath mingled faintly with hers. His eyes flickered between her lips and her closed eyes, searching, desperate, terrified all at once.

The world fell away.

And just before his lips could cross that final, forbidden distance.

"Coconut… butter milk…" Isabella mumbled, voice slurred with sleep, lips twitching like she was nibbling something in her dream.

Cyrus blinked. "…What?"

Her brows furrowed, her nose scrunched, and with the softest pout she added, "Idiot… I want butter milk…"

For a moment he could only stare at her, dumbstruck. All that tension, the weight of unsaid words and restrained emotions—it shattered like glass beneath a hammer. A laugh almost escaped him, but he bit down on it, pressing his lips together hard to keep from waking her. Still, his shoulders shook once, traitorously, from the sheer absurdity.

She was here, looking like a goddess in her sleep… and dreaming about butter milk.

Cyrus' lips curved helplessly. The warmth swelling in his chest wasn't just love—it was amusement, relief, something so soft and human it nearly undid him. He lifted a hand to his mouth, smothering the grin, but the happiness spread anyway, curling deep into his chest.

Shaking his head faintly, he leaned back just enough to study her again. The moonlight spilled across her face, catching in her lashes and the curve of her cheek. She looked so peaceful, so unguarded.

Cyrus whispered under his breath, "Butter milk, hm? I'll see about that tomorrow…" His voice carried a quiet fondness, the kind of promise only he would hear.

With the utmost care, he tucked the furs closer around her shoulders, making sure she was cocooned in warmth. For a lingering moment, he let his fingers hover near her hair, aching to brush it back, to feel its softness between his fingers. He stopped himself just short, pulling his hand back like it burned.

He turned then, gaze falling to the little bundle in the corner—Glimora's tiny bed of hides. She stirred faintly in her sleep as he bent and placed her gently down, adjusting the covers so they wrapped snugly around her. For a moment she peeked one eye open, gave him a half-hearted glare as though warning him not to steal soup in the future, then promptly burrowed herself back into slumber.

Cyrus smiled at the little beast before shifting his gaze back to Isabella. He stayed a moment longer, simply watching, simply breathing in the peace that hung heavy in the room. His heart felt too big for his chest, yet somehow lighter than it had ever been.

Finally, with quiet steps, he moved back to his own spot, lowering himself down without a sound. He lay there on his side, facing her, but leaving a respectful distance between them.

Her breathing filled the silence, slow and steady. The kind of rhythm that made the rest of the world fade away.

Cyrus closed his eyes at last, the ghost of a smile still playing on his lips.

Tonight, he thought, he could sleep. Tonight, he didn't feel like a monster.

...

The first thing Isabella noticed was the warmth. Golden sunlight spilled across her face, soft and heavy like a blanket laid over her skin. She blinked slowly, squinting against the light that sneaked through the cracks in the wooden shutters.

Her nose twitched. A smell drifted through the room—rich, warm, mouth-watering. Something savory, something sweet. Her stomach gave a small, traitorous rumble, and she turned her head toward the source even though she already knew the scent was seeping from beyond the door.

She stretched beneath her covers, letting out a quiet sigh before propping herself up on her elbows. The furs shifted around her shoulders, warm giving way to cool morning air. The contrast made her shiver, but not unpleasantly.

Her eyes moved to the little bed in the corner. Glimora was still there, curled in a perfect ball of white fluff, her tail tucked neatly around her body like a ribbon. Her tiny sides rose and fell with each steady breath, and every now and then her ears twitched, as if she were chasing something in her dreams.

The sight made Isabella chuckle under her breath. Of course Glimora was still sleeping. That little beast could fight Zyran tooth and claw all night and then still somehow sleep like she hadn't waged war.

Isabella hugged her knees to her chest for a moment, chin resting on them, just watching. Everything felt oddly peaceful—like the kind of morning that almost convinced you the night before hadn't happened at all.

But then came the knock.

A firm, solid rap at the door.

Isabella flinched, her whole body stiffening as if someone had just snapped their fingers in her ear. Her heart skipped, then slammed back into rhythm. Memory crashed over her in a wave—the chaos of last night, the noise, the teasing, the way Zyran had been his maddening self, the way Kian had silently loomed, and the way Cyrus—

Her breath hitched.

She remembered everything.